Hogwarts : The Descendant of Gryffindor
by BlacKlocK
Summary: Alastair was sent to Azkaban for a murder that he commited but a mysterious Death Eater helps him to break out. He has only one string of words to guide him in a quest that leads him to Hogwarts. But soon the Death Eaters come a'calling for lending a hand
1. Chapter 1

**Hogwarts : The Descendant of Gryffindor**

**Chapter 1 : The Prisoner of Azkaban**

The air was frigid as the moon rose and the sun set. The day slowly turned into night and torches were lit along the vast network of dark and dank corridors. Hooded figures drifted down them, neither walking nor flying with sightless eyes and skeletal hands. Chains hung from the ceilings, clinking against each other as a cold unearthly wind howled through the passages.

In cells lining the walls, individuals languished, waiting for their time to run out. Literally. It was in one of these cells that a man lay. He looked as though in a stupor with his eyes turned towards the ceiling from his prone position on the cold stone floor. A single window, barred and enchanted, provided light. Little pools of water formed around him as the drops dripped from the ceiling.

Very painfully, very slowly, he pulled himself to the bars of his cell. He grasped them for support, pulling himself into a standing position. Even as he rose, he clutched the bars as his legs, weak from the lack of exercise, shook. Feebly he collapsed again onto the floor, his hands sliding down the bars. Across from him, another prisoner scoffed.

"You must be the weakest they brought in. Stand tall and strong, man, for the Dark Lord is rising. He may consider you if you prove fit to serve him." The man, indeed, was standing tall but even he shrank back as a hooded figure passed. They were silent but their mere presence made you very very unhappy, as though all hope was lost and your faint glimmer of happiness was sucked away.

"Master! Come for me! I wish to serve you, Lord Voldemort! Come, please!" The man suddenly sunk to the ground and sobbed. Soon he quietened until, "KILL ME!" he wailed and his voice filled the whole passage. The hooded figure stopped and looked at him, as he fell into a curled up position on the floor, whispering gibberish to himself.

The prisoner turned from the man and slumped back against the wall. He looked up at the barred window, seeing the moon rise. Every time some hope came into him, the Dementors passing would suck it out like a black hole. Nothing could stop them. His shaking hand slowly moved to where his pockets would be if he were wearing a wizard's robe. But the robes of an Azkaban prisoner had no pockets and his were also torn and ragged.

For a moment his hand grasped something imaginary and his lips were seen to make out the words 'Expecto Patronum'. He flicked his invisible wand and was lost in his own fantasy. He saw the Dementors shrink back as the silvery figure charged through them. Maybe then he could be free. The seconds turned to minutes which turned to hours. He clasped his hands together in front of him and stared at the wall opposite him. Only the faint dripping sound of the water gave him an indication of whether he was awake or asleep, alive or dead.

He tried to think of happier times but he couldn't remember them. He had been trapped in this nightmare for so many years now that all he could remember was a little string of words. A mantra he kept whispering to himself day to day to keep himself sane and to not give up hope. But he had done that a long time ago.

"The knight of the Lion." He muttered to himself

It was the only thing he knew, the key he needed. An ancient secret that only he had been able to crack. The only thing that he had ever wanted in life and it rested with this 'knight'. He couldn't make sense of it but it didn't matter anyway. His life was slowly ticking away.

Shadows were suddenly thrown across the walls in the corridors that were illuminated only by the everlasting torches that burned in their brackets. The corridors were always dark and the only light sources in there were the enchanted torches.

The prisoner sat up bolt upright as the Dementors approached. But they passed his cell, between him a man with messy black hair between them. As they passed, he looked up and his eyes met the prisoner's. The prisoner slumped back against the wall, eyes wide open. But then he once again fell back into his almost vegetative state, eyes once again unfocused and lost.

Time passed and soon the moon was directly in the center of the sky in almost a right-angle to the ground. It was midnight. The prisoner dragged himself to the wall he had been staring at all this while and used an uncut fingernail to scratch a line in the wall. He had counted the days leading up to today. Grimly he surveyed his work and looked up as the shadows once again appeared.

_They had come for him. _

The Dementors arrived. Silently his cell door swung open. Hanging his head with his mop of untidy light brown hair and unkempt beard, he approached them. He couldn't refuse, his legs seemed to move of their own accord now. Then, just as the other man a few hours ago, he was sandwiched between the two black figures and marched towards yet another nightmare. The last one he would ever have.

The prisoner shuddered as the temperature of the air seemed to nose-dive ten degrees lower. They went through the endless corridors where people faded away slowly. In spite of himself, he smiled. Now he could end this nightmare. But maybe he was just going insane. Maybe this was just another of those dreams he had everyday when he finally dropped off to an unrestful sleep.

At last they arrived in a large hall illuminated also by the enchanted torches. His heart sank as he saw how many Dementors were there. They formed two lines with a space in the middle. The Dementors dragged him through that space. He looked around at the mouldy walls and smelled the dank air. He suddenly felt so unhappy. He just wanted to die suddenly. Life was not worth living anymore. He suddenly found himself looking up at the Dementor at the end of the hall, the Dementor lines on his left and right, with almost some fondness in his eyes. They were bringing the prisoner to him.

He finally arrived at the end of the hall. He took a deep breath, hating the rotting smell that the Dementors gave off. He bowed his head. No one in the world cared if he lived or died. He was just another lowly murderer being executed for his crimes. _Just another one_. They didn't want to know who they were really executing. He found himself thinking of the other prisoners that landed in the same boat as he did. No one to hear them scream, no one to find out the truth behind their sentences, behind their eyes.

A voice rang out in the hall, echoing off the walls. A cold voice and probably the last voice he would ever hear. "You, Alastair Graham Rythe, have been found guilty of murdering several innocents in Diagon Alley, in a supposed bloodlust. Thus, you have been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. Do you have any last words?"

It was almost ironic. Who in the world cared, he thought, about me? So he asked for the only thing he could ever want since falling in this nightmare with no hope of getting out. It was like the deepest pit in the world and he was finally reaching the bottom.

The Dementor loomed ever closer, their breathing was uneven and their rotting smell was nauseating. Alastair set his jaw and looked the hooded figure straight where the eyes would be as his world swirled and he felt more lost than ever before. The skeletal hands were firmly on his shoulders now but their touch was gentle. It was almost as though he were about to be kissed by his mother or lover. The approach was slow, but tormenting.

"Just do it quick."

* * *

A/N : My second story and my first ever for Harry Potter. I hope you enjoy reading this. :). The title's a bit of a giveaway but it's the best I could think of.

* * *

**Disclaimer and Credits :** Kudos to J.K. Rowling for such a wonderful series of books. You deserve every bit of attention from us fans hehe. The name of the chapter _is_ from one of her books but I couldn't figure out a better title. It just stuck. So all credits go to her because I didn't make up the name 'Azkaban'. Most of the names used here are owned by her except 'Alastair Graham Rythe'. It is entirely of my own creation. The plot is also thought of by me as well as the title. I did not create the names 'Hogwarts' or 'Gryffindor'.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter ****2 :**** Prison Break**

Alastair's eyes were closed, his knees about to buckle when suddenly the Dementor released him. He fell back with a shudder, a hand clasping at his chest. A silvery figure was making the Dementors shrink back and disappear. Two hooded figures were walking towards him, one of them holding a wand with disdain.

"I hope I never have to cast one of these again." A woman examined her Patronus with disgust.

"Don't worry. When the Dark Lord returns, he'll have these Dementors under us in no time." A man's voice replied her.

"But he went after that Potter boy, Bellatrix was screaming about it when she was brought in. He's gone!" She wailed.

"So you doubt our master?" The man's voice was sharp and cut across her wails.

"No! I will not desert him. We will have to look for him," A smug smile crossed her face unobscured by the hood. "We will earn his favour, something Bellatrix will be unable to do in Azkaban." The woman chuckled.

"Yes... but shouldn't we go back and release her? She _is _his most trusted servant. He might be displeased we left her in here."

"No need! We can make up some cock and bull story for her. Say, what's that over there?" Alastair froze as her eyes swept over him. He thought of making a run for it but he was unarmed and they somehow were.

"You, come out of the shadows and show yourself!" The man commanded roughly.

Alastair walked towards them, his heart pounding inside his ribcage. The man cast a look over him, a thoughtful expression on his face. The woman merely pointed at his head. He felt a sweatbead roll down his face but daren't wipe it off.

"You... we saved your life today. You certainly owe Lord Voldemort a favor. Don't forget us. It'll be the last thing you ever do." The man then turned to his companion.

"We never did discuss how we were getting out of this place."

"We have brooms outside... from a friend. Don't give me that look! We can't apparate out of here so brooms will have to suffice until we get out." The woman replied.

And so they left leaving Alastair to watch them go. Thoughts were rushing through his head faster than he could think about them. He was in debt to the most powerful wizard in the world... he sunk to the ground, his head in his hands. What was he going to do?

He got up shakily and headed towards the courtyard of the prison. He saw the two Death Eaters take off and wondered how the hell was he going to get out. Suddenly he saw something black in the courtyard, shaking it's head and wandering about. It looked like a horse but black with bat-like wings. Alastair crept towards it, his heart still hammering. The Thestral looked at him, unconcerned, and returned back to walking about. For some reason, this one looked totally lost even though Thestrals had a reputation for knowing where to go. This... was this how he was going to get out? He couldn't risk standing here anymore. He walked towards the horse, expecting it to fly off and leave him here to suffer the Kiss again, but it didn't. It just watched him with avid interest and cantered towards him.

He stretched out his hand and touched the horse's skeletal head. They resembled huge equine skeletons with a black coat draped over them. The horse didn't react but sniffed at his hand. It was, to him, just a normal horse. He gritted his teeth and clambered clumsily onto the Thestral's back. It didn't buck like it expected it to. But what he didn't expect it to do was to spread it's wings and take off from the stone courtyard. Alastair's knuckles showed their whites as he gripped the horse's neck tightly, feeling the wings beat behind him. The Thestral soared through the air effortlessly. Alastair didn't look back at the place that had been his home for so long.

He passed over countrysides, mountains and towns. The air was cold and he shivered. He lifted a hand to blow some warmth into it and saw that it was still shaking. His whole body was still shaking violently. He clutched at the beast's neck and closed his eyes. An overwhelming feeling was eveloping him. He was free.

The Thestral travelled until dawn where it started to dip down gently. Alastair woke from his uncomfortable doze with a start and gazed sleepily down at the Thestral's destination. His eyes widened. A large building or _buildings _had risen out of the early morning fog. He stared at it. Two boars stood at the pillars near the gates. A sleepy little village was nearby and he saw with a jolt that there were two taverns. His stomach rumbled but he couldn't slip off the Thestral now. He waited until it got so low that he could practically touch the treetops.

But the Thestral didn't land in the village. It soared over the gates to the massive buildings and landed in the forest with a thud. Alastair's eyes widened even further as it bucked him off in it's joy at seeing it's herd. He rose from the ground, rubbing a bruise on his shoulder when he noticed that there was a hut nearby. It was in the big buildings' grounds and was surrounded with a garden of crops.

There was nothing else to do but knock. He reached for the door and curled his fist into a ball. Hoping that he didn't hope for too much, Alastair knocked.

It seemed to take hours for someone to open. When someone did, an enourmous figure rose above Alastair's head.

"Who 're yeh?" The man muttered sleepily. Before Alastair could reply, to his surprise, the man ushered him in. "It's too early Gatsby, even for yeh." He yawned.

But soon even this giant man noticed that Alastair wasn't 'Gatsby'. They stared at each other for a few minutes in silence.

"Who the ruddy hell are yeh?" The man demanded.

Alastair proceeded to explain everything in great detail, hoping that this man wouldn't seize him and physically throw him out, which he noticed, this man could do in an instant. The man looked oddly understanding and nodded. Soon he got up and served Alastair some cake and a big mug of tea. Gulping it down enthusiastically, Alastair continued his tale. When he finished, Hagrid, the big man's name, sat down opposite him.

"Ar, Dumbledore's been expecting you actually."

"What?" Alastair couldn't believe his ears. Who knew of his escape? Maybe he would be sent back to Azkaban. He knew he deserved it for murder, but he was so free. Free to choose his own path.

"Dumbledore. The Headmaster."

"Headmaster...?"

"Yeah, Headmaster. Blimey, you're not very bright are yeh? This is a school. Welcome to Hogwarts."

* * *

A/N : Blimey alright. Sorry for such a lame chapter. I'm really running out of steam for this story.

Disclaimer : Almost all the names here are owned by J.K. Rowling. Kudos to her.

* * *


End file.
